


The King's Mistress

by Kanako_Hime



Series: The Agency [1]
Category: The Tudors (TV), Tudor History - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Multi, Tudor Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanako_Hime/pseuds/Kanako_Hime
Summary: Lady Catherine Goodwyn is the newest member of Edward VI's court, and already the King has his eye on her. But is there more to this innocent lady then meets the eye? A slight AU fic, apologies if there is any confusion.





	

_London, October 1552_

In a narrow alley of Fleet Street, a lone figure huddled into the grimy wall they were leaning on, bright eyes taking in the surroundings from under the hem of a damp hood. The houses were attached to each other, seeming to cling together like drunkards, and the stench was almost unbearable. Each morning, the women would throw the contents of the chamber pots and washing bowls from their gabled windows into the stream, where the mess would join the thick stream of foulness that wound its way thickly through the street towards the filthy water of the River Thames. A delicate nose wrinkled.

The ring of a spurred boot rang against the cobblestones. At the alley’s mouth was the imposing figure of a handsome young man, richly dressed in the clothes of a courtier; a tall hat on his head, a rich cloak hanging from his soldiers, a sheathed sword at his side.

"You are late, Lord Dudley," the cloaked person said coolly, pushing off of the wall to walk towards him. Robert Dudley chuckled easily.

"My apologies, Lady Goodwyn," he replied, bowing and offering an arm, which was taken and the pair began to stroll along the street. "I was not aware of the time."

"Clearly," his companion answered coyly, the hood tilting back to show the soft curve of a smiling mouth. "How is the King?"

"Fairing well, bonny and blithe as one could wish to be, praise God," was the instant reply, "But I sense that you already knew this."

"Perceptive, for a man."

"Clever, for a woman."

A glare burned at Dudley, filled with clear annoyance.

"Oho. Have I offended you, Mistress?" he said, a touch smugly.

"I keep my own counsel, sir," she replied pertly, twitching her skirts away from a large puddle of questionable origin. "Do not presume to know my mind."

"What is your mind, Mistress?" At her look, he shrugged. "We have some distance to walk yet. Do you plan to marry?"

She snorted. "I have no desire to marry."

"How will you eat?"

"I can find some work - I have contacts that owe me favours."

"But do you think that a woman could manage without a husband?"

"Yes," she replied confidently. "I could. A woman can make and command her own fortune, without a man meddling."

"But what else could a woman command?" he said, teasingly. "A ship? An army?"

"A kingdom," she said smartly. "One day, Dudley, you will see a woman run a kingdom better then those that came before her, and perhaps you will change your tune."

Dudley’s interest was piqued. "Will I truly live to see such a thing?"

"If you play your hand correctly," was the vague reply as they strolled along the riverbank. The wind was icy, and they both shivered, pulling their cloaks closer around themselves as they passed the gates of Whitehall Palace, bowed through by the guards as Dudley showed his seal of the bear and staff. They passed through a series of courtyards, a large, ornate chamber, along a gallery and into a smaller, but no less lavish, chamber.

"These are your rooms," Dudley announced as they parted. "They are suitable?"

"Yes," the woman nodded, drawing off her damp cloak. "The king knows I am here?"

"He will," Dudley assured her, "My father works his charm as you requested, and the king’s companions are eager for him to bed a woman - any woman."

"It is good to know I am so treasured," she said dryly.

"Indeed," Dudley agreed, making for the door. "Shall I call for a maid?"

She laughed, fixing her merry dark eyes upon the young lord.

"But of course. A lady of my standing does not undress herself."

* * *

That evening, after a small meal in the presence of the courtiers who had regarded her with curiosity and _sans_ the King, Catherine Goodwyn retired to her room and, after confirming that her door was locked, pulled out a short, silver stick from a hidden compartment in her trunk that had arrived earlier. Pressing a button on the side, the stick extended until it was about half the length of her arm and a transparent screen streamed out from the side of it. A lone woman, sitting in shadow, appeared on the screen.

"You’ve arrived, I take it," she said without preamble. Catherine nodded.

"Yes, my lady," she murmured. "Dudley and his father have done as you ordered; the king is also aware of my presence here."

"Good."

Catherine swallowed. "My lady, do I really have to...you know…" she shifted uncomfortably. She was pinned with a stern look.

"Yes, Uriel, you do," the woman said firmly. "When you agreed to take this assignment, you were made aware of any and all possibles attached." A slender brow rose. "Don’t tell me you’re still a virgin?"

A reddening of skin was her answer.

"Oh," the woman purred, cradling her chin with one slender hand. "I see. This does not, however, change things. If anything, it will make your role much more convincing."

"My lady!" Catherine whispered, mortified.

"Your task is simple, Uriel." The teasing tone had evaporated; cool, clinical efficiency was in its place. "Befriend the King. Bed the King. Keep him close. And-" her eyes narrowed. "-ensure he remains on schedule."

Her lips numb, she nodded, and the screen disappeared. Hiding the comm unit back in her trunk, Catherine unlocked the door and sent for her maid to help her undress for bed. The hour was late - she could remain a virgin for tonight, at least.

* * *

_Whitehall Palace, November, 1552._

Catherine huddled into her fur-lined gown. Just how no-one else was freezing their toes off was beyond her. Most of the court had decided to play bowls in one of the courtyards on the green. She had been asked to play but declined, pleading a headache, and they eventually left her alone. Shivering once more, she turned and went inside, hoping to slip away quietly to her room and warm up. As she reached the gallery that led to her room, she ran headlong into a slender man in soft blue velvet. They both staggered back, but he apparently recovered his senses faster then she did, as his arm shot out and yanked her upright, his fingers almost painful on the skin of her wrist. Catherine’s head snapped back, her curved hood flying from its place and landing in an undignified bundle on the floor.

"I am sorry," the man - no, _boy_ , she realised, as he helped her straighten; he was not yet fully grown into manhood - apologised, looking worried. "I was not watching where I was going, my lady."

"I am guilty of the same thing, my lord," Catherine said hastily. "I apologise."

His slender fingers slid from her wrist and he picked up the forgotten hood on the floor, his actions slow and cautious, as though she would flee at any sudden movement. He held it out, an offering that was accepted with trembling fingers.

"Thank you, my lord," she managed, her eyes tracing over his fair, slight features before she dipped a slight curtsy. "If you’ll excuse me." She hurried down the gallery and disappeared into her room, unaware of the curious blue gaze that followed her.

"Who is she?" he asked aside of his companion lurking in the shadows, interested eyes following the court’s newest member.

"Lady Catherine Goodwyn, your majesty," was the prompt reply. Edward felt slightly amused. Of course, Northumberland always knew what he wanted to know. "Daughter of a minor noble family, come to court this last month. Has your majesty taken a fancy to her?"

"She interests me," he admitted quietly. "Keep an eye on her."

Northumberland nodded. "As your majesty wishes."


End file.
